


it's like a story of love

by besidemethewholedamntime



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fitzsimmons Secret Santa 2020, Fluff, Humour, Love, Non-SHIELD AU, background Huntingbird - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besidemethewholedamntime/pseuds/besidemethewholedamntime
Summary: "He’s just about to text back that no, he’s never texting the number, when something stops him. He’s alone in his flat, bone-weary, and feeling far too upset that his friend has cancelled on what was going to be pizza and video games. Texting the number can’t lead to anything worse than this, surely. If it does then he’ll blame the extreme exhaustion. People use that to get away with murder, right?"Feeling alone and decidedly un-festive at Christmas, Fitz allows himself to be persuaded to text his number neighbour. It's better than he ever could have imagined. A Fitzsimmons Secret Santa gift.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 24
Kudos: 62





	it's like a story of love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgentOfShip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentOfShip/gifts).



> Hello, Sabrina! It's me, your secret santa! It's been so much fun being your secret santa and getting to chat with you over the past month and a bit! I absolutely loved your prompt - even more so because it wasn't something I'd usually write and it was really fun to do! I went a bit overboard with it but I just got so excited and hopefully it's what you had in mind! I hope you're having a lovely holiday and thank you so much for being you <3
> 
> Title is from 'Only You' by Yazoo. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3

It’s Hunter’s idea. That should have made him suspicious from the beginning.

“ _Number neighbours?”_ Fitz repeats, incredulous. He’s not drunk enough for Hunter’s ridiculous suggestions. He needs three pints in him at least. The time that Hunter suggested they break into the London Zoo at midnight to see the monkeys, he’d downed five.

“Yeah, Fitz. Number neighbours. You don’t need to be an old arse about it. You text the person with the same number as you, just one digit up or down at the end.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Saw it on Facebook.”

“Well that’s just bloody fantastic isn’t it?” The pub is playing a Christmas playlist, but the upbeat music just makes Fitz frown further. He feels neither very holly or jolly or in the mood to celebrate. In his opinion, social media just brings trouble, and Hunter plus social media is sure to bring the end of the world. “I could get a right weirdo.”

“Or you could get a girlfriend,” Hunter says quickly. “It’s about time you at least tried. It breaks my heart, mate, to see you sitting alone.” He reaches over and pinches Fitz’s cheek between his forefinger and thumb. “My Fitzy deserves to be happy.”

“Bugger off,” Fitz grumbles, shaking Hunter off who unsurprisingly has the grip of a terrier. “You say that like this time last week you weren’t sitting on the couch next to me playing video games, just as alone.”

He and Bobbi and their ‘on and off and occasionally married again’ relationship has recently been reset to the ‘on’ position. Now Hunter has made it his mission in life to ensure Fitz has a girlfriend too, clearly feeling guilty about the nights he cancels on playing video games in order to play with something else altogether.

“Come on, Fitz. It’s Christmas, perfect time of the year.” He gestures around wildly to everyone else in the pub. _Last Christmas_ has begun to play and a group of students are strangling to death in the corner. Hunter looks at him expectantly, not even wincing. “You deserve to have someone to spend Christmas with, too.”

“Fine,” he agrees, but not because he thinks it’s a good idea, simply because if he keeps saying no Hunter is only going to get louder and gesticulate more wildly, and Fitz just isn’t in the mood to get thrown out. They’ve only just made this pub their regular one after getting barred from the last.

He gets out his phone and adds a new contact in the form of his own number, pausing when he gets to the last digit. He looks at Hunter. “Up or down?”

“Up,” Hunter says quickly, very quickly. “You should go up.”

“Alright,” Fitz draws out the last half of the word but doesn’t say anything. The whole thing is strange anyway. He adds a _5_ instead of a _4_ to the end and saves it, holding out his phone to his friend.

“There,” he says. “You happy now?”

“You’ve only added the number, mate. Now you need to text her-them. You need to text them.”

Fitz huffs. There are over 700 million UK mobile numbers and he feels like his chances of having someone half-decent have the one up from his are not favourable, to say the least. To say the most, they’re downright shite.

“I’ll text it later,” he says, taking a drink of his pint, feeling as though he’ll need a lot more to put up with this. “You know you’re making it sound like I have no friends at all, right? That I desperately need to text this number with some half-arsed idea that it’ll lead to the love of my life?”

Hunter looks at him for a long moment. “You’re a right Grinch at the moment, you are. You better hope that number leads you to a new friend because I don’t know if I can put up with your grumpy arse at the most wonderful time of the year.”

“Maybe a new friend would be good,” Fitz says thoughtfully. “One that wouldn’t ditch me on a Friday night for their girlfriend even though the triple meat feast pizza was already in the oven.”

“I bought you a new one!” Hunter exclaims. “And I bought us ice-cream to make up for it so don’t you start.” He takes a self-righteous sip of his drink and then looks at Fitz with a face akin to a puppy who’s just been told he’s a naughty dog. “You’re not serious though, right? About a new friend?”

“No,” Fitz sighs, trying not to smile. “I’m not.”

“Good. I’m just trying to look out for you, mate. You know that. You’re my Fitz. I just want you to be happy.”

Getting overly sentimental means that it’s almost time to go home. Fitz downs his drink and helps Hunter stand up. “Yeah, I know that.”

“Good, that’s good.” Hunter crashes his face into Fitz’s shoulder, murmuring against his shirt, “I love you, mate. I really bloody love you.”

“Yeah,” Fitz sighs again, and tries to manoeuvre them both through the throngs of people towards the door. “I really bloody love you, too.”

-x-

In the end he forgets about it.

Coming up to Christmas means that people are trying to get projects finished before the two weeks of annual leave they’ve been waiting for since last year. Schematics are thrown his way like the world is ending and people desperately want his approval for them before they sign off for the year, unwilling to drag work from this one into the next. Fitz is too busy to eat, to sleep, and frequently wakes on the couch after falling asleep in front of his laptop. He has no time to even text his own mum, never mind a stranger who may or may not, but most likely not, be the love of his life.

He forgets about the strange number in his phone completely until one night, still in early December, Hunter texts him cancelling the coming Friday’s plans.

_Sorry, mate. Apparently, hell-beasts have parents that need to eat and want you to explain why you’re back together with their demonic spawn after divorcing them a year ago. Better to go. We’ll reschedule yeah?_

Unsurprisingly, Bobbi texts him not two minutes later.

_I’m sorry, Fitz, I know how much you were looking forward to your guy’s night, but my parents are difficult enough and I kinda need backup on this one. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. And by the way, have you texted that number yet?_

It’s also unsurprising that Bobbi is aware – Hunter’s never been the kind of drunk to forget a plan. It is surprising, however, that she is colluding with him on one of his ridiculous schemes. It’s unlike both of them to gang up on him.

He’s just about to text back that no, he’s never texting the number, when something stops him. He’s alone in his flat, bone-weary, and feeling far too upset that his friend has cancelled on what was going to be pizza and video games. Texting the number can’t lead to anything worse than this, surely. If it does then he’ll blame the extreme exhaustion. People use that to get away with murder, right?

It’s eleven-thirty on a Wednesday night and so, as he types out a not-so-serious message to this number neighbour of his, he’s not expecting any half-decent person to reply. He hits send without overthinking it, and almost falls off the couch when there’s a reply immediately after.

-x-

_Is anybody out there?_

_Hello?_

_-x-_

He’s gaping and when he realises, though there’s nobody around to see it, he promptly snaps his mouth shut. A pain travels down his teeth and into his jaw but he’s too busy staring bug-eyed at his phone to notice.

 _I didn’t think anyone replied to these things,_ is his honest response.

 _No, neither did I,_ comes the reply.

Fitz chews his lip, looking left and right, almost expecting Hunter to jump out from the shadows and scream _got you! I knew you were lonely enough to do it, Fitz. I’ve just won a tenner from Bobbi._ But the corners stay dark and the shadows remain undisturbed. It’s only him here. He gets to decide what happens next.

With one last glance around, he types out a message that he’ll probably wish he hadn’t later on.

_Let me guess, are you doing this number neighbour thing too?_

He finds himself strangely nervous for the next ten seconds as his question remains unanswered. Two messages with this utter stranger and his heart is hammering uncomfortably against his ribs. _God, Fitz,_ he thinks, _you really need a life._

His discomfort doesn’t last for long.

 _Yes,_ the reply says, _however did you know?_

He smiles reflexively as he types. They could be anyone, but at least he’s been entertained for a bit before the inevitable discovery of them being a weirdo.

 _Lucky guess._ Maybe this person has friends like Hunter. Maybe they’re alike. It’s impossible to know anything about them after this meagre exchange, but he finds himself intrigued. _I’m Fitz, by the way._

Should he be giving out his name? He doesn’t really know the etiquette in these types of situations. Well it’s not as though it’s his full name and National Insurance number; it would be hard to track down anyone with just _Fitz._

Whoever is on the other end of the line doesn’t reply as quickly as before, and Fitz uses the moment to check the time. It’s getting well into late o’clock territory, and it’s an unfortunate fact he has to be awake well before the sun for work. Finding himself strangely unbalanced, as if something has taken place that he doesn’t understand, he scrubs his face, shuts down his laptop and heads to bed.

In the morning he checks his phone eagerly, not knowing he’s looking for it until he sees it and feels something akin to relief. A message, singular. The only notification on the screen.

_It’s very lovely to meet you (or text I suppose, really), Fitz. I’m Jemma._

-x-

In general, Fitz isn’t big on texting.

He prefers face to face conversations, even though he can be impossibly awkward whilst taking part in one. He’s always too distracted to look at his phone and continue a conversation, and there are regularly two or three hours between his replies, in which the person on the other end always gets fed up. Even his mum hates texting him, and regularly calls him out for ignoring a question asked three days before. It’s too hard to decipher tone, and emojis and emoticons or whatever they’re called have him confused to no end. Hunter calls him an old arse, and while he usually resents that remark, in the case of texting he has to take the hit. He figures as long as he’s aware of it then it’s alright. Everyone has their quirks, after all.

But with Jemma it’s different, and throughout the workday he finds himself looking away from his computer and down at his phone, guiltily hoping that there’s a reply from her. And there is. There always is. She replies quickly, so quickly that he briefly wonders if she’s doing the same thing as him, hovering over the phone and ready to pounce on it the moments it dings. Then he dismisses the thought, chides himself for being silly. He’s the only one sad enough to be doing that.

In the few instances he has tried dating apps, he’s always been put off by the inane conversation, the tiresome _how are yous_ and _what are you up to todays._ Conversations that seemed to be circular in nature, going around and around but never actually going anywhere. It never seemed to him like they ended, but rather just faded away into oblivion and he barely even noticed.

It’s different with Jemma. Her replies are well thought-out, almost carefully designed, yet they come so quickly and flow so well from the previous message that Fitz has a hard time working out the true nature of them. She says interesting things, asks interesting questions in kind. Their conversations don’t follow the usual monotonous pattern of all other online relationships he has had; they are several days into their message thread before the words _how are you_ come up. Even then, it’s only part of a larger sentence, a longer story. _How are you even alive,_ in response to the story of how Fitz had electrocuted himself with a toaster when he was nine.

Of course he has to be careful. He doesn’t think of himself as dating Jemma, as this text relationship developing into something more. He’s aware she could be anyone, really, and that it’s easier to hide behind the anonymity of a number than a Tinder profile. He’s aware that, while their conversations are stimulating and engaging now, they could still fade into irrelevance like so many of them have before.

He tries to tell himself that it doesn’t matter, that some things don’t last forever, but as he lays in bed at night, smiling at something Jemma’s said, it gets harder to believe what feels like a lie.

-x-

_I realise that I probably should have asked this question long before now, considering I’ve asked you so many things already, but what is it that you do for a living?_

Fitz bites his lip, staring down at the message in somewhat disbelief. Have they really not discussed this yet? During the week that they’ve been speaking he’s learned a lot about her: she’s the same age as him, she lives in London, too but originates from Sheffield, she has what might be an unhealthy obsession with tea, and she seems to know everything there is to know about the universe. He’s learned that she falls asleep sometimes in the middle of their conversations at the exact same time every night, and she awakens at the same time every morning. He’s learned that, when she’s tired, her perfect grammar will sometimes slip and she’ll include an extra comma or full-stop, which she will then apologise for in a follow-up text message.

But he hasn’t learned what she does for a living.

_How about we guess, and whoever gets it right first wins?_

_Hmm, alright then. But what do I get when I win?_

_Feeling very sure of yourself there, Jemma Simmons?_

_As a matter of fact I am, actually. So what will I win?_

_Well… I dunno I’ll figure it out as we go. You can go first._

_Engineer?_

His jaw drops. _No way,_ that’s his first thought, which is quickly followed by his second, _of course._ Jemma seems to him like one of the smartest people there is – sometimes he wonders if he’s even smart enough to speak to her. Sometimes his finger hovers over the keypad before he replies, as he tries to think of something that sounds intelligent enough to say.

_Okay, how did you get that so quickly?_

_It just seemed to fit you, somehow. It was the first thing that popped into my head. Now you guess what I do?_

_Nah, I’m just going to look stupid now compared to you. There’s no way I’ll be able to get it that fast._

_Oh, Fitz. Come on. It’s just a bit of fun. I promise I won’t hold it against you. Just the first thing that pops into your head, alright?_

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, thinking of _Jemma_ and _Job_ and the first next word that comes into his head to complete the chain is-

_Scientist?_

_Fitz! How did you manage that?_

_What? Am I right?_

_Yes! Well, technically, I’m a neuroscientist, but since science is right there in the title then I consider you to have gotten it on the first try._

He feels surprisingly happy considering it was just a silly little game. _Look at us, guessing each other’s careers on the first go at it. Maybe we’re psychically linked._

_If I believed in such things then I would have to say you might be right._

They talk of their professions for a while. He speaks about the ideas he has in his head that he would love to materialise, the technology that he knows could better lives if he could just have some time and resources to create it. Jemma speaks of her desire to understand the 86 billion neurons in the brain, the trillions of synapses that somehow make a person who they are. She speaks of how that if they can understand it, they can understand what goes wrong with it, and hopefully one day prevent it.

 _Science and Engineering,_ he texts, _just rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it?_

_I suppose it does. Why? What are you implying?_

He takes a big breath, though why he doesn’t know. If anything goes wrong, he can simply just delete the number and wish he’d never been born.

_It’s just our fields aren’t so different, right? So, maybe there’s a possibility of us one day working on something together that could change the world in ways we can’t even imagine. Maybe there’s a way of us doing what we want to do, together._

He knows she reads the message almost immediately, but there’s no immediate response as has become customary. He taps his foot against the floor and bites his lip too hard, almost swearing with the sting of it. It’s ridiculous to feel like this, he knows, but he can’t help it. The seconds seem to stretch into hours and he’s on the verge of shoving his phone between the couch cushions and moving flat when there’s the tell-tale ding that he’s come to associate with the feeling of being happy. It feels like another year before he can bring himself to look at it.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but her one sentence is somehow better than that.

 _Yes,_ she has written, _maybe there is._

-x-

“So how’s the text relationship going then?"

“Yeah, it’s going alright.”

“Aw, Fitz. Ever the understater.” Hunter narrows his eyes at him. “Must be going better than alright.”

“It’s going good, then. Why? What’s it to you?”

Hunter suddenly finds the television fascinating, concentrating on it more intensely than Fitz has ever seen him concentrate on anything.

“Nothing,” he says, but his nonchalance doesn’t fool either of them. “Makes no difference to me at all.”

-x-

It’s not that Fitz hates Christmas, but with each passing year he just finds it harder to get into the spirit of the season, to break into a smile at the adverts on the TV or feel like singing along with the songs on the radio. This year more than most especially – with him working on Christmas Eve and the 27th, and his mum working Christmas Day then straight through to New Year, there’s no chance of him getting home to see her. With family meant to be at the heart of the season, it’s just difficult to get into it when it’s the one thing he can’t have.

Jemma’s not going home for Christmas either. _(Super important, world-saving science experiments?_ he’d guessed. _That’s sweet,_ Jemma had replied, _but no. An over-50s river cruise for my parents.)_ With neither of them having siblings or significant others to spend the day with, and with all of their friends having their own plans, it seems to be that they’ll be spending the time alone.

 _Maybe we should meet up before Christmas,_ Jemma texts one night, and he has to rub his eyes to make sure that it’s not wishful thinking rearranging the words on the screen. _That way we might not feel as alone when everybody is busy._

 _Yeah,_ he replies, his text looking a lot cooler than he feels, suggesting a carefree attitude he does not have. _Yeah, that would be good. What do you think we could do?_

There’s a few minutes before her reply, which he has come to learn means that she is thinking. _Well, what about ice-skating?_

It’s not the first time she has mentioned ice-skating to him, and he wonders if this is as casual a suggestion as she has tried to present it to be. Often before she has spoken of the ice-rink at the Natural History Museum, one of her favourite things at her favourite places, _It’s not really a place you go alone, though,_ she’s said before, _and nobody else seems keen to do it._

He’d chickened out of it before, but it’s not a mistake he’s going to make twice.

 _Ice-skating sounds good,_ he writes, even though the only reason it sounds good is because it’s her suggestion, _but I have to warn you I’m like a baby deer on ice-skates._

Her reply is quick like lightning. _Oh don’t worry. I’m not very good either. In fact I’ll probably fall flat on my face and crack my skull open on the ice._

 _Don’t worry,_ he types back without thinking, _I’ll catch you._

It feels like wandering into dangerous territory, crossing a line that’s unspoken but there nonetheless, at least for him. Immediately he wonders what possessed him to do such a thing. There’s not even any excuse he can offer – at least if he’d said it he could excuse it as speaking without thinking, with texting there’s no such easy get out.

Heart in his mouth for what he pretends is an unknown reason, he stares anxiously at his screen. Her reply is quick once again, and his heart slides back down into his chest where it beats faster for an altogether different reason.

_Oh well thank goodness for that. Although it might lead to both of us falling down together, I’ll try_ _and catch you, too._

-x-

She sends him a picture of herself so that he’ll know who to look for when they meet at the museum, five days before Christmas.

It’s slightly blurry, the edges soft and out of focus, but it doesn’t detract from her bright eyes, or her wide smile. There’s a funny feeling in his chest when he looks at it, as though everything is slotting into place. It all just makes sense.

It comes accompanied with the message, _I was going to send you the picture that’s on the university website, but it makes me look so cross and stern. I feel (or hope, really) that this is more accurate._

Fitz isn’t a man who takes pictures of himself, and he doesn’t think he could even if he tried. He’s tended to avoid cameras over the years, and in the few photos he has of him and his friends he is indistinct in the background, an unrecognisable face. His original plan was also going to use his company ID but it just feels like cheating now, disrespectful to Jemma’s effort. So, it’s with a lack of any better options and just over a hint of desperation that finds him and Hunter in Fitz’s flat at ten pm on a Thursday night, trying to find Fitz’s best angle.

“I think you need to turn to the right a bit, mate,” Hunter directs, standing in front of him with his phone in front of his face. “It’s your good side.”

Obligingly, without even any grumbling, Fitz turns to the right.

“Loosen up a bit, will you? It’s supposed to look natural, not like a bloody passport picture.” He brings his head out from behind the phone. “Or a mugshot.”

It takes a whole, embarrassing hour, but eventually they achieve the desired picture. It doesn’t have the same ethereal quality that Jemma’s has, but it’ll do.

“Are you sure?” Fitz asks, fretting at his kitchen table. “Are you sure it’s alright?”

“For the last time, Fitz, _yes._ Just send the damn thing already.” Hunter rests his feet on the table, leaning back so far in his chair Fitz can hear the wood groan. “You look gorgeous.”

“Don’t want her to think I’m creepy looking or something,” he mumbles, looking down at his phone.

“She _won’t!”_

“She _might._ ”

Hunter just laughs and Fitz looks up to find him smiling in that way that means he has a secret, but neither love nor money will get it out of him. “What?”

“Nothing, mate.” He takes his feet off the table. “You’re just you, that’s all.”

Fitz feels himself frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just be you, Fitz,” he says, for a moment oddly sober. Then he stands up, gesturing to the phone, the photo attached to the message and ready to go. “Now send the bloody photo. Or I’ll send her the one from my birthday and let me tell you, she will think you’re creepy looking after that.”

-x-

_You look very handsome, although perhaps a little pasty. Are you getting outside enough?_

-x-

Fitz finds he’s incredibly nervous as he picks his way across the ice-rink. Having gotten here early, Jemma has already purchased her skates and is sitting on a bench at the side, according to her text. Heart hammering in his mouth, making it hard to breathe, he searches through the throngs of people trying to get their slice of Christmas magic for the smile and the eyes that he has unknowingly committed to memory.

The crowd parts and he sees her at exactly the moment she looks up and sees him. She smiles wide and it feels like a firework going off inside his chest. For a moment he forgets his fear, forgets the crowd of people and the uncertainty of his feet on the ice. For a moment it’s like it’s only the two of them, and he feels inexplicably known by this woman who he has never met.

“Fitz!” She stands up, voice carrying clear and loud through the crowd, and he thinks _yes, of course that’s your voice – it sounds just like it should,_ before awkwardly waving at her and trying to skate towards her without landing on his arse. She smiles widely at him, looking a thousand times more radiant than her photo in her wine-coloured winter coat and woollen hat pulled down over her ears, and it doesn’t falter even though it takes him a while to reach her.

“Jemma?” He asks, even though it’s not a question. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, he says, “Hi,” white clouds of breath escaping into the chilly air.

“Hello,” she says, and he wonders if she’s as nervous as him; a small part of him hopes that she is, that this is as important to her as it is to him. She skates forward a little. “You look exactly like your-”

She breaks off. She’s misjudged the force required to push herself forward and her body pitches forward alarmingly. Fitz sees what’s going to happen before it actually does; his hands are out of his pockets and he’s braced himself for the weight of her falling against him before he even thinks about it. For a moment neither of them moves, they barely even breathe, and Jemma’s weight lingers against him, her head pressed into his chest and her hands clutching her elbows.

Without withdrawing, Jemma looks up at him and cringes. “Sorry about that.”

Fitz shrugs gently, unable to help his grin. “Told you I’d catch you.”

“Yes,” she says, the smile returning to her face as she straightens herself up, shakes off the fall that never came. “I’m glad you did. You seem a lot more expert than me.”

“Don’t worry,” he tells her, strangely missing the weight of her elbows in his palms. He shoves his hands back into his pockets. “By the time we’re done here you’ll probably have had to catch me plenty of times.”

“I doubt it. I’ll bet that by the time we’re done here you’ll have had to catch me more than I’ve had to catch you.”

He looks at her, almost flabbergasted. “Are you making a competition out of this, Jemma Simmons?”

“If you insist, Leopold Fitz.”

It’s only been a few weeks, but he knows that Jemma Simmons is one of the most competitive people he has ever met, and that the use of his full name means that this competition is serious. He also recognises that she’s the only one who would make a competition out of who could fall the most, and that it’s probably a little bit ridiculous.

He also recognises the fact that he doesn’t care one little bit.

“Fine,” he says, feeling none of the usual awkwardness he would feel with anyone else. “Well then, Jemma Simmons, lead the way.”

-x-

They ice-skate until their noses and toes are numb. Jemma wins the competition – Fitz has to catch her no less than seven times, the last one being a mad dive across the ice before she fell backwards and cracked her skull off the ground. When she falls backwards into him at the very last moment, she spins around and says, “I feel as though this qualifies me to win, don’t you?”

Fitz, still recovering from the minor heart attack she’s just given him, agrees.

They get hot chocolate at the stand and Jemma clucks her tongue at the amount of marshmallows and cream they end up with, but she drinks it anyway and ends up with a cream moustache that, when Fitz points it out, she asks him to wipe away for her and doing so gives him his third cardiac event of the day.

They walk around for a while after that, exchanging stories of work and family and childhood. He tells her about his dad and she tells him about her scoliosis. He thinks he’s never quite been understood by somebody this much, and doubts he ever will again. In the dark December night, the Christmas lights strung up all around them, it’s almost too easy to convince himself that this is a dream and that any moment now he’ll wake up in his flat, just as cold and alone as he’s always been. Only the weight of Jemma’s arm hooked around his own keeps him grounded, and believing that maybe, just maybe, this is real.

It seems to him that almost no time at all has passed before they’re standing at a street corner, ready to part.

Jemma stands smiling up at him. She has a very nice smile, he thinks for about the thousandth time today. “I had a really nice time today.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Me too.”

Jemma nods, too, biting her lip. “So, in light of the lovely time I had today, I want to ask you something, something that I’ve wanted to ask you for a while actually.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “Go on.”

“Feel free to say no, of course. I don’t want you to think you have to say yes but it was just a thought I had and-”

“Jemma?”

“Yes, sorry, of course.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “I was wondering, since we’re both going to be alone, if you’d like to spend Christmas Day together this year.”

It was not what he was expecting in the slightest, and he stares at her, more than a little dumbfounded. She must take his silence for apprehension, for she continues on.

“I was thinking we could watch films and cook and play boardgames… I’d have a plan, obviously, so it wouldn’t be completely unstructured.” She breaks off, peering into his face. “If you don’t want to then that’s alright. It was just an idea… maybe a silly one now that I think of it. Just… just forget about it, Fitz, alright?”

“No,” he says softly. “No, I don’t want to forget about it.”

“Oh.” She blinks at him. “So, is that a yes?”

Later he’ll look back and wonder how there ever could have been the illusion of a choice. How there ever could have been a moment where she thought he would say anything other than, “Yeah. I’d love to spend Christmas with you.”

-x-

 _“_ Should I get her a present?”

Hunter finishes swallowing his pint. “Nah.”

“What if she’s expecting one?”

Rolling his eyes, Hunter says, “She won’t be.” He finishes his pint and looks decidedly morose until he sees a Bobbi coming back from the bar with two in her hand. “Knew I married you for a reason,” he grins, as she slides into their booth, passing him the glass.

Bobbi snorts. “Yeah, and I know I divorced you for one, too.” But her tone is soft and lacking bite, and Fitz knows it’s only a matter of time before they get disgustingly close together on the seat.

“It’s Christmas though,” he says quickly, hoping to obtain some actual help before they leave and start celebrating the season in their customary way. “People give presents on Christmas.”

“What’s going on here?” Bobbi frowns. “Why’s Fitz stating the obvious?”

Hunter sighs, reaching for his second drink. “He wants to know whether he has to get Jemma a present for Christmas.”

It’s the evening of the 23rd and while shopping on Christmas Eve, especially considering work, is never a good idea, Fitz thinks he could manage it.

“Aw, you’re cute, Fitz,” Bobbi smiles, and Fitz worries she might reach over and over ruffle his hair. “But you don’t need to get her anything. It’s only the second time you’ll have met each other. She’s not gonna be expecting it.”

“What if she is though? How do you know she’s not?”

Bobbi rolls her eyes. “I know she isn’t.”

“But how?”

“I just know, alright?”

There’s something in her tone that makes Fitz narrow his eyes, but Bobbi’s face remains decidedly impassive. He changes tack and turns to her Achilles heel instead, the one person who will surely crack if there’s anything to tell.

Hunter holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, don’t look at me, mate. The woman just knows things like this - she’s good like that. Maybe it’s a female thing? Who knows?” He stands up and starts to edge past Bobbi, who Fitz could swear briefly drops her head into her hands. “I’m going to get another drink. Anyone want anything? No? Okay then."

And despite the fact that his pint is barely touched and the bar is impossibly crowded, he squeezes out of the booth and promptly disappears.

“That man,” Bobbi sighs. “I swear to God…”

-x-

Jemma turns up at exactly 9am on Christmas morning holding several reusable carrier bags, and one small, neatly wrapped gift, which she holds out to him immediately upon him opening the door.

“I wasn’t sure whether to bring you a present,” she says by way of explanation, “but I didn’t want to turn up empty-handed.”

He takes in her carrier bags and the backpack slung over her shoulder. “I think that’s the one thing you didn’t need to worry about.” He reaches behind the door and brings out his own small present, a gift bag with tissue paper coming out the top. “Merry Christmas, Jemma.”

She smiles into him and he feels his heart swell with what he attributes to the magic of Christmas (and maybe something else, but he doesn’t think about that yet). She takes his offered gift like it’s something special and says, “Merry Christmas, Fitz.”

He takes the carrier bags from her and sidesteps to let her in, hoping she’ll think his flat is always this clean and tidy and that he wasn’t up at 6am this morning to clean every inch of the place, and that he didn’t phone his mum, wish her a merry Christmas, and ask what she uses to scrub the sink.

“It’s lovely in here,” she exclaims. “So clean, Fitz. I’m impressed!”

He grins when she can’t see him, shutting the door behind her.

-x-

It turns out to be one of the best Christmases Fitz has ever had.

They cook a full Christmas dinner, utilising the miracle of YouTube as it turns out to be an endeavour neither one of them has undertaken fully before. They burn the potatoes and the turkey is a little dry, the gravy a little lumpy, but they talk so much over dinner that the food is secondary, and the plates are clear before either one of them notices.

They play Christmas songs on repeat, the same songs that irritated Fitz only a few short weeks ago now making him smile as he watches Jemma sing and dance along to them as she cooks. There’s a minor debate over the popularity of _All I Want For Christmas Is You_ and whether or not it’s justified (Fitz will go down fighting on this one, he’s partial to a bit of Mariah Carey), and it ends as soon Jemma rolls her eyes and says, “Ugh, Fitz, you’re impossible,” and while he still feels rightly indignant, he also somehow feels that _impossible_ is the finest thing to be called, and he can’t speak for a while after.

They eat a ridiculous amount of sweets and drink ridiculous amounts of hot chocolate and watch film after film until all the plots blur together in their minds and they couldn’t differentiate them if they tried. They talk about everything under the sun, barely even pausing for breath, and when Fitz checks the clock for the first time since he woke up he realises it’s six in the evening and that no Christmas Day has ever passed by him this quickly before.

“I’m glad I texted you.”

They’re sitting on his couch watching Doctor Who, huddled in amongst blankets and wrappers from the open box of Celebrations that sits between them. He swallows the Malteser one on his mouth before saying, “yeah, I’m glad I texted you too. It’s mad how we managed to text each other at exactly the same time.” He gives her a cheeky look. “Must be fate.”

Jemma quirks an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

He grins at her. “Nah, but still a bit mental.”

“Isn’t it just,” Jemma agrees. “I wasn’t even going to do it – it wasn’t even my idea to begin with.”

“Wasn’t mine either. It was my friend’s.” He searches through the tub for another Malteser. “Kept going on and on and on about it.”

“My friend did that, too! She kept saying how fun it could be and how it would be good to get out of my comfort zone and how I could meet the love of my life.” She glances at him sideways and blushes, and like a gentleman, he pretends he hasn’t seen it. “Anyway, she was relentless. I think I did it just to shut her up, if I’m honest.”

Fitz thinks back to the moment where he texted her, when it wasn’t Jemma, this Jemma, with her nose scrunches and her heart-stopping smile, but simply an unknown number, his own save for one digit at the end. He thinks of how many variables there are in the world, how many numbers, and how fortunate it and how improbable it is that theirs should be together. How fortunate and improbable it is that they’re here at all.

It’s something he couldn’t put into words, something he doesn’t want to even try and do here just now when they’re having such a moment. So instead he just nods knowingly and says, “I wish I could get my friend to shut up. You get him off one thing, you just end up starting him on another.”

“Oh dear,” Jemma says. “Well Bobbi’s not quite like that, but she can be very insistent.”

Something in Fitz’s brain begins to tingle, and he gets the sensation in his stomach that he got just before the moment the security guards found him and Hunter by the monkey enclosure at the zoo.

“Bobbi?” He says, trying to sound casual. “Your friend’s called Bobbi?”

Jemma looks at him curiously. “Yes, Bobbi Morse. We work together at the university. We’re not quite in the same field but we share a lab.” She tilts her head. “Do you know her?”

It takes all of his energy to bring his jaw up from where it has smacked a hole in the floor. “Hunter’s my best-friend. I’m assuming you know of Hunter?”

He enjoys watching Jemma’s features as they rearrange themselves into a picture of incredulity. “Lance Hunter?” And then she gasps. “ _No_.”

 _“Yes!”_ He says, because now it all makes sense. It all makes bloody sense. “We were set up.”

“I can’t believe it,” Jemma says, which Fitz forgives her for because she’s acquainted with Bobbi more than Hunter – if she had his own experiences then she wouldn’t find it hard at all. She smiles at him, almost shyly. “Not so much fate then, Fitz, as just our friends trying to meddle with our lives.”

“I could swing for him,” Fitz mutters. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

“Oh come on,” she says, her eyes dancing. “It didn’t turn out so badly, did it” She reaches across the blanket, covers his hand with her own. “We’re here together, having a lovely Christmas. Although it was very underhanded, no matter how brilliant, and they should never have conspired to make it happen, I must say that I’m happy they did.” She squeezes once, very gently. “I’d maybe even thank them.”

Well, when she puts it like that… maybe he’d even thank them too.

-x-

At the end of the night she kisses him on the cheek and his heart, instead of stopping, kicks into overdrive. He asks her if she’d like to bring in the New Year With him.

His heart still stops when she says yes.

-x-

“I knew it!” Hunter slaps the sticky table with glee. It being the 27th, the pub is emptier than normal, and the sound which would usually be drowned out is deafening now. “I knew it would work! Didn’t I tell you, Bob? Didn’t I tell you this would work?”

“You didn’t so much ‘tell’ me as ‘yell it at me’ but yeah, I gotta give it to you.” She nods her head, conceding the point. “You were right.”

“You know, I think that might be the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”

“Oh shut up.”

“No, that’s right. How could I forget? You told me that you didn’t want me to die once.”

“Shut up, Hunter. Stop making everything about you.”

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry.” He turns back to Fitz, filled completely with glee. “You have _no_ idea how hard it was to keep secret. Honestly, mate, the things I do for you.”

“I just can’t believe you did it,” Fitz sighs, and then turns accusingly to Bobbi. “And I can’t believe you were in on it with him, too.”

She makes a semi-apologetic face. “I’m sorry, Fitz, but it was just too good an opportunity to pass up. We knew you’d be perfect for each other and once we realised your numbers were only a number apart, well-” she shrugs, and he hears the unspoken _we did what we had to do._

“And we knew you’d never let me set you up again,” Hunter interjects. “Not since the last one turned out to be raging psychopath.”

Fitz winces at the memory of that particular date. “But-”

“No buts, mate. You don’t need to say a thing. You don’t even need to thank us.”

“That’s not true,” Bobbi interrupts, turning to Fitz. “You just know he’s gonna be expecting you to name your firstborn kid after him or something.”

“Oi! I do things out of the goodness of my heart sometimes, Bob. Not that you would know, coming straight from Hell as you do.” Then, in a stage-whisper, he says, “but Lance is a good baby name, just if you ever wanted to think about it.”

“I can’t believe the two of you,” Fitz groans, cradling his head in his hands. “I actually can’t believe it.”

“Look, there’s no harm done, mate, is there? You and Jemma get to be stupidly in love and make everyone else around you just a little bit nauseous, and Bobbi and I get to stop worrying about the pair of you once and for all.”

“Jemma and I aren’t in-” Fitz begins to say, but Hunter holds up a hand.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says. “I don’t want to hear any sort of bloody excuse coming from your mouth, alright? Now, I’m going to get us all some more drinks with Bob’s money, and when I come back, we’re going to talk about what the four of us are doing for New Year.”

He slides out of their usual booth and stalks off, almost stomping his feet. Bobbi and Fitz watch him go, before Bobbi turns to Fitz and says, “He’s been keeping this in for a while. You know how he gets.”

“Yeah, believe me, I know,” he sighs.

“I’m sorry we did it the way we did,” she says, and he thinks she might just mean it. “We just wanted the best for you, Fitz. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” he says again, because he does, really. Where would he be if it weren’t for them? Besides, Jemma’s right. Maybe he should even thank them. And he will, one day, when the act of doing so is less likely to make Hunter’s head inflate to ten times its usual size. “I know that, too.”

-x-

They end up at the usual pub for New Year.

It’s not where Fitz would have chosen to go, but Hunter is insistent, and their frequent visitation means that they’re able to get the tickets cheaper than would otherwise be the case. They can’t get their usual booth, however, and the four of them end up pressed into a corner, but what would have made Fitz huff and sulk the whole time last year has him actively smiling now and Hunter, whilst he says nothing about it, notices the change and looks incredibly happy about it.

“Who would have thought I would have been spending my new year like this,” Jemma says, smiling up at him. “It seems so unbelievable that a month ago I had no idea who you were.”

“You could’ve had longer than a month if you’d listened to us,” Hunter starts, but Bobbi steps heavily onto his foot.

“Well we’re here now,” Fitz says pointedly. “Isn’t that all that matters?”

“Suppose,” Hunter sighs, but Fitz knows he’s happy, really. It’s rare that a drunken scheme goes his way, and he’s going to lord the success of this one over them for the rest of time.

Bobbi looks between Jemma and Fitz arms and Fitz sees something flash across her face. A fleeting expression, it’s gone before he can name it. She takes Hunter’s arm. “Come on, Hunter.”

“What? Come on where?”

“It’s only a couple of minutes until the ball drops, and I want to watch it.” She gestures with her head. “Come on.”

“Are you insane, Bob? It’s mental in here. There’s no way we’re getting through that lot.”

“Well we’ll just need to try, won’t we?” And she drags him away still protesting and whilst they disappear from sight relatively quickly, Hunter can still be heard complaining long after.

“Oh dear,” Jemma laughs. “I’m going to pretend that I don’t know why she did that.”

“That’s probably best,” Fitz says. “Maybe their scheming will stop after tonight.”

She gives him an in incredulous look, one eyebrow raised. “From what I know of Hunter, I somehow doubt that possibility.”

He does, too. But his latest scheme has led them here, and maybe a little scheming every so often isn’t such a bad thing after all.

The whole pub begins to count down from sixty, the air alive with the magical promise of a new year. He and Jemma count down as enthusiastically as anyone else, and not for the first time he’s hit with the sense of just how magical this moment is, how, no matter what happens, he’ll remember every detail with perfect clarity: the heat of the pub, the weight of Jemma pressed against him, the powerful force that moves his lips down to hers as the countdown goes _three, two one…_

People clap and scream and kiss all around them, but he doesn’t register it, doesn’t even think to. This moment is very much like the first one he laid eyes on her – there’s only the two of them in this whole wide world.

They come apart yet not at all. Foreheads pressed together, breathing hard yet barely breathing, the first thing they see of the new year is each other, and both get a sense of just how special it’s going to be.

Jemma has stars in her eyes. Her hand is warm on his neck, her breath warm on his face, and Fitz has to concentrate to understand her words when she smiles and murmurs, “Here’s to a full year of knowing each other like this.”

He laughs softly, smiling too. “Here’s to a full year,” he whispers. He thinks, _and here’s to many more._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to leave kudos/comments. Please feel free not to. Either way, I hope you're having a lovely day and managing to stay safe and well!
> 
> Happy New Year when it comes/if it has already come for you. I hope you get your dreams in 2021, and I hope it's a little bit kinder to us all <3


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